


All A-Flutter

by Allison_Wonderland



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Blame Fire_Sign, F/M, Like super cracky, Penguins, at least I don’t think so, but not real cocaine, crackfic, so cracky it might actually be cocaine, utter absurdity, who knows what they got up to last night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Wonderland/pseuds/Allison_Wonderland
Summary: Jack confronts an intruder in Phryne’s kitchen.





	All A-Flutter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Blame Firesign. I’m not entirely sure why this exists. I, like Jack, was under the influence of alcohol when a conversation took place about fuzzy creatures and someone insisted on it being a penguin and then the realization that there are indeed penguins on St. Kilda pier. This is the result. And I’m sorry.

It was well past noon when Jack pulled himself out from under Phryne. The bed was warm, her body even warmer, but it would soon be unbearably uncomfortable if he stayed where he was. She never even moved as he struggled out of the bed, so soundly she slept. He attended to the call of nature, barely managed to fasten his trousers, and staggered down stairs in search of liquid that was assuredly NOT alcoholic. And preferably had vast quantities of caffeine. Food was normally a given but his stomach had not decided whether is was a good idea or not. And he wasn’t about to risk it until he was sure. 

The kitchen was bathed in light and warmth from the open side door and Jack cringed and shielded his eyes. His head pounded harder and his stomach continued to revolt. He had no idea WHAT he had consumed the night before but hoped to never repeat the experience. It had been years since he had let himself get that inebriated but he had actually enjoyed the party the night before and good sense went out the window with the first bottle of champagne. ALL sense left after the gin. And he couldn’t be quite sure that alcohol only was to blame for his predicament. He chose not to think about it. 

Jack made it to the range with no incident but as he turned to find the coffee pot, he stopped dead. Blinked a few times. Rubbed his eyes and blinked again. Was he still asleep? Now he HAD to think about what else he could have possibly consumed. Because he could swear that a penguin was sitting at the kitchen table. He knew he was still not entirely sober but had never had hallucinations with alcohol before. Was he high or had he fallen down into Wonderland? Or was he still asleep and this was all a dream? But his headache felt very real and he pinched himself and there was STILL a penguin sitting at the kitchen table. Who trilled at him.

“Mr. Butler?” He whispered to the penguin, feeling rather ridiculous. While sober, he would have known quite certainly that it was indeed NOT Mr. Butler in penguin form but half drunk Jack could only see the black and white of the penguin’s plumage and compare it to Mr. Butler’s usual morning suit.

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” came back Mr. Butler’s voice. But most assuredly not from the penguin. Thank god. At least he wasn’t that mad. 

Jack turned to see Mr. Butler holding a tray containing two glasses of his hangover concoction which was beyond lethal; unfortunately not in a French lingerie way. And a plate of kippers? One glass was handed to Jack who did his best to swallow the whole thing without gagging, and of course, the kippers were set in front of the penguin. Leave it to this household to use the fine china even when feeding wildlife. Mr. Butler thankfully ignored his absurd declaration to the penguin.

“I see you’ve met Fitzgerald. He wanders in here every so often. The family before must had been feeding him, he’s quite at home here and has surprisingly excellent manners.”

Jack shook his head at the absurdity and immediately regretted it even though the hangover cure had downgraded his headache from ‘hit by a lorry’ to ‘hit by a cricket bat’. Still annoying but less than deadly. 

“Would you care for breakfast, Inspector?”

“Er, no thank you. I think I’ll go back upstairs.” 

“Of course, sir. I’ll leave some sandwiches in the icebox if you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler.”

Jack turned back briefly as he left the kitchen to see Fitzgerald dig into his kippers while Mr. Butler looked on fondly. Jack just shook his head again as he made his way carefully upstairs.

Phryne was starting to stir and sit upright with some difficulty as he came through the bedroom door. He handed her the glass and she threw it back in one gulp and then snuggled right back under the covers. Jack decided that she had a good idea, there was no use in trying to continue this day. They could sleep this one away and try again tomorrow. He tossed off his trousers and crawled into bed. As soon as he was settled, Phryne took back her position half on top of him and cuddled her head into the crook of his neck. He gently stroked the silk of her back and she nearly purred. He smiled and held her closer. Even with a hangover, snuggling with Phryne was better than anything. Just before they drifted off, Jack muttered absently.

“Did you know there’s a penguin in your kitchen?”


End file.
